


God bless mother nature, she's a single woman too

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [30]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Schmoop, wet!Twelve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't put your damp Time Lord directly into the clothes-dryer, unfortunately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God bless mother nature, she's a single woman too

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who requested: wet!twelve shows up at Clara's doorstep because the TARDIS broke down, stranding him outside in the rain.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Clara says brightly.

“Thank you.” The Doctor squelches past her, leaving a trail of mud. “It’s Wednesday.”

“This is true.”

“Also it’s raining.”

“Evidently.” Her smile grows a little tighter. 

He shakes his head abruptly, droplets of water flying. “Sorry, sorry, I was, ah, thinking of something else. Don’t suppose you know how to get a cat out of a chrono-condenser? Can’t shift the TARDIS from the parking lot until…” He looks down, and at the leaves-and-gunk trail behind him, and then at her face. “This is one of those etiquette things, isn’t it.”

“Common-courtesy thing, really.”

He half-processes that, sets it aside, jumps ahead in the conversation they’ve evidently been having in his head. “I can’t go adventuring when I’m moist,” he says, very seriously.

“Not sure I like you saying that word.” She scrunches her nose in distaste. “Anyway. Easily solvable problem! Just take your clothes off - not here - ” Too late. “- And I’ll throw them in the dryer. Won’t take long. You know where the towels are.”

 

She comes back, after a lengthy pep-talk to herself ( _Pick your battles, Oswald_ ), to find him trying to blow-dry the back of his knees.

“I hate towels,” he explains, wobbling on one foot.

Her patience rapidly diminishing, she yanks the blow-drier out of his hands before he sets the flat on fire or burns his nuts off. “Put this on,” she says, smushing her favorite bathrobe (the fluffy pink leopard-print one) against his chest.

It’s comfily oversized on her, comedically undersized on him. She stifles a laugh, poorly. He frowns, scritching at the back of his head, bony wrists sticking out of the sleeve, bottom hem lifting up coquettishly. Or it would be coquettish, if he had even an ounce of sexual self-awareness.

“Right,” she says, valiantly holding back the giggle threatening to break free. “Your coat will have to hang-dry, but the rest should be done in half an hour. Netflix while we wait?”

He slumps down on her couch forlornly, balanced precariously on the pile of decorative throw pillows. “I used to have an umbrella,” he says, fiddling with the tasseled edge of one of the pillows. “Multiple umbrellas. I wonder what I did with them all.”

She makes the non-committal noise she usually does when he’s babbling. The inventor of the umbrella, lovely chap. Future umbrellas. Those hats with small umbrellas on them. She snuggles next to him, starts flicking through her queue. A planet where it rains all the time. The different sorts of rain. A planet where it rains fish once a year. A planet -

“How about dry places,” she interrupts. “Somewhere with nice sunny days. Got any of them?”

“Oh, thousands. How many suns do you want?”

She considers. “Two, I think. More than that just seems greedy. Also potentially uninhabitable.”

He hums under his breath, flipping through a mental Rolodex. “Well, there’s Kabalon III…”

This is nice, she reflects as he rambles on. This weirdly-domestic thing. Not better than actually going to the planet with the emerald-green sky and the bird-people, but still, nice. In a ‘you’re paying for my carpet to be steam-cleaned, again’ kind of way.


End file.
